


Dorzê

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, Leliana is a bit of a voyeur, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rare Pairings, Shameless Smut, Smut, Zevran being Zevran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: Some down time at Warden's Keep (and supposedly thick walls) allows for some serious lollygagging in bed.





	Dorzê

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hey. I drug myself onto another rare pair boat. *paddles in circles*
> 
> Most excellent fan art by [ElvenBeard on Tumblr](http://elvenbeard.tumblr.com/). This entire story was inspired by the image, honestly. And I'd only asked for the image because I fell in love with the two of them during a playthrough.
> 
> Many thanks to beetle and potionsmaster for their magnificent support and betaing!

 

~~~~~

Zevran wakes slowly. This in and of itself is unusual. He’s either awake or asleep, never willfully lingers in the in-between. But he’s caught in a cocoon of warmth, huddled under a mound of blankets and laying on a soft bed, the back of his lover pressed into his front. He’s tucked one arm under his head, the other holding his lover’s muscled body against himself.

Garral is asleep, still softly snoring, his body radiating heat against the chill of the cold room so that Zevran has to suppress the soft moan of contentment that tightens his throat. He does sigh, however, and snuggles closer.

The door creaks open softly and in the dim light of pre-dawn, he sees an elf enter, quiet on bare feet, a bucket of kindling in one hand. Biscuit raises her head and whines, and the servant gives her a long look, obviously wondering if the Mabari is safe to move past. Zevran tuts at the dog and she lays her head back down, following the movement of the servant with watchful eyes as she moves to the grate and begins to lay kindling. Soon the fire is crackling in the stone hearth and the girl heads for the door. Biscuit whines and follows her out, hopefully to make her way outside before she does her business. The room is still and quiet, breathless, almost as if time has stopped just for the two of them.

Zevran very nearly falls back asleep, lulled by warmth and contentment—by Garral’s rhythmic breathing, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under Zevran’s arm. For all his life, he never imagined he would be charmed by such a man as Garral. He’s not even sure how it happened, other than one moment he had fully intended to take the dwarf’s life and the next he was desperately trying to talk his way out of losing his own. Something about the humor he saw lurking in brown eyes and the way the Grey Warden had paused, looking down at him as he lay on the road, his hands fisted around his own knives. There had been a spark between them even then that had made Zevran wonder if he was indeed doing the right thing by putting his fate into the smaller man’s nimble hands.

A stiff gust of wind rattles at the window, driving snow against it in small patters and tings. He buries his nose into Garral’s neck, sighing softly, drawing his solid body to him more tightly. He slides a hand down, smoothing fingertips along the soft skin of his side, feeling familiar scars as his hand trails back up the dwarf’s chest and through coarse chest hair.

“For being so _very tired_ last night, you certainly didn’t take the opportunity to sleep in.” Garral’s voice always croaks first thing in the morning, a fact that Zevran finds eternally endearing.

Zevran laughs softly and kisses the soft down of red hair just at the nape of Garral’s neck. “How could I possibly sleep when I have such a fine man in my bed?” He hums and cuddles closer, tucking his legs up and under Garral’s to eliminate any space that might separate them. His hand drifts over Garral’s chest, bolder now that he knows his lover is awake. “I find even after a long journey, sleeping with you is _very invigorating_.” He rolls his hips just a little to emphasize his point, ( _Point. Ha! Indeed._ ) and grins when Garral moans softly, pushing back into him and wiggling to _feel his point_.

“I’m meeting with Levi this morning after breakfast—”

“Oh, but that’s not for hours, _mi amor_ ,” he purrs and pushes his hand lower to the edge of Garral’s smalls. “It is barely dawn. Surely you couldn’t want to pass up the opportunity before us?” He kisses a trail down the dwarf’s spine, biting gently when at last he stops between his shoulder blades. “A warm bed. _Thick_ , stone walls.” He moves back up and whispers, “You can be as loud as you like, my darling.”

Garral chuckles softly, a sound that hums through Zevran’s brain. Making Garral laugh causes him more pleasure than he’d ever thought possible. “So _that’s_ what this is all about…”

“Indeed, I must admit.” He slips a hand underneath the cloth at Garral’s waist, seeking further down, fingers trailing lightly. “A certain amount of...privacy is always appreciated. While I am no prude,” and Garral huffs in agreement, “I am also not interested in making the entire camp uncomfortable with our _activities_.” He sighs and slips his fingers around what he’s seeking, stroking upwards light as down feathers. “So, yes.” He bites Garral’s earlobe, pulling gently with his teeth. “For once, I would like to know. What noises can I make you sing when there is no one around to hear but me?”

The other’s breathing deepens, a soft moan escaping his parted lips. “I—” Zevran tightens his grip and the dwarf chokes on a gasp. “Oh...Zev…”

“Yes?” Zevran’s hand remains firm around Garral, but otherwise still. He feels his shaft pulse and thicken, and contemplates the ways he could make his lover come undone. “Is there something I can do for you, perhaps?” He squirms his hips closer, ensuring Garral can feel Zevran’s own hardness nestled between them. He wants Garral’s smallclothes out of the way, but is unwilling to release his hold just yet. “Some...service I might provide?”

“I...you…” He reaches down to cover Zevran’s hand with his own, thrusting his hips to create friction. His lover’s normal mode of communication during their romps leans more towards the nonverbal direction of hands or mouths rather than words, a habit Zevran has desperately been attempting to guide towards more verbal cues. He readily admits to himself that he derives more than a fair amount of pleasure from the simple act of finally coaxing a word or two from Garral’s mouth—usually a _please_ or _more_ or _yes!_ —and considers it a job well done should an actual sentence become involved. Or, even better, incomprehensible mutterings. He marvels at how shamelessly unselfish he has become when it comes to getting his lover to talk in bed, rewarding him grandly for any syllable.

“Do you like that?” He allows the movement of their hands together, murmuring in his ear. “Would you like more? Or,” he lifts his hand, “should I stop—”

“Nng...no.” Garral twines his fingers through Zevran’s, pressing back down on himself. “Don’t...don’t stop…” The words are a whisper, the only sound in the room beside the slight rustle of the bedclothes and the howl of wind outside the window.

Zevran laughs softly, kisses the downy hair at the base of Garral’s skull, smells soap and woodsmoke and something he could only describe as coming from somewhere in the center of the earth. Something so completely Garral as to be indescribable. “You only have to say, _mi amor_.”

“I say you’ve been sent to torture me,” Garral whispers. He ruts into their entwined hands, his head falling back against Zevran’s shoulders, legs falling open and coming to rest on either side of Zevran’s.

Laughing wantonly, Zevran kisses the back of his lover’s head. “Perhaps. You’ll never know the original contract, will you?” He gives a squeeze, shifting his hips to rub over the cloth of Garral’s smallclothes. “It could have all been a ruse. Sent to assassinate your heart instead of your body.”

“I think you’ve succeeded…” Garral moans, deep in his throat so that the sound vibrates between their bodies and Zevran finds he has to concentrate, to not become distracted by how well Garral responds to his touch.

“I’m very glad to hear that, _mi amor_.” He shoves the bedclothes down, the room now warming from the fire, their bodies heated from the increase in their heartbeats. He looks down over the planes of their bodies to admire how they fit together, his own skin paler in comparison to Garral’s bronze. His other hand lays useless under the pillow and he groans in frustration, wanting to touch more fully. Slowly he rolls them, shifting until he’s laying on his back, with his lover’s body on top of him exposed to the room. The movement gives his other hand freedom to roam. At the first opportunity he pushes away his smallclothes. Garral helps, lifting his hips until there’s nothing between them, then settles back down, adjusting to the unfamiliar position.

“I’m not too heavy?”

“Darling, you are light as air.” Which is hardly true, but he’s far too determined to pleasure the dwarf to worry either one of them with small details. He runs his hands over Garral’s stomach, one returning to his previous ministrations to give him a long stroke, the other pinching a nipple between his fingers. Garral gasps and twists his hips, which only causes Zevran to chuckle darkly and do it again.

“Maker’s balls…”

“Louder, my sweet.”

But Garral only groans and reaches down to touch what small part of Zevran’s sides he’s able, his fingers digging down between Zevran’s hips and the bed to bring them impossibly closer.

“What do you think?” Zevran whispers in his ear. “Can you hit the ceiling?” He looks up at what must be twelve foot ceilings. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Nng.”

“Ah, so that’s a yes, then.” He keeps a steady, slow pace with his hand, the other teasing peaked nipples before sliding up to slip two fingers inside Garral’s mouth. He takes them greedily, sucking at them, flicking his tongue along them. Zevran squeezes his cock and Garral bites down on his fingers just enough to burn, which makes Zevran lose his control for a moment, thrusting up against his lover. “The things you do to me,” he breathes.

Garral releases his fingers and turns to smile at him. “Feeling’s mutual.” Zevran laughs and pulls him close enough to kiss. Their lips meet, somewhat awkward considering the angle, but still languid and sensual. Garral flicks his tongue along Zevran’s lips before nipping at his lower lip with sharp teeth and a delicious gleam in his eye. Zevran strains his neck to kiss him deeper, but resists Garral when he tries to turn into him, holding him firmly in place.

He realizes the kiss has distracted him so that his hand has stilled. He holds Garral lightly, rubbing the precum from the tip with his thumb. Garral’s breath hitches at that so he does it again and again until brown eyes close with a sigh and his head falls back on Zevran’s shoulder. “Watching you come undone is my greatest joy,” he murmurs into Garral’s ear. “This is what I can do for you. What I want to do for you. To take your mind off darkspawn—” he strokes his full length once, “—and politics—” he strokes again, “—and whatever else is thrown at us. Because, my darling, life is more than battles and sleeping in tents, and worrying about whether Alistair’s sister will ever talk to him again or what Morrigan gets up to at her campfire.” He releases Garral’s cock to reach down and cup his balls. “I’m here to make your life even just a little more enjoyable.” He kisses the shell of Garral’s ear. “Even if it is only for a moment,” he whispers.

Garral’s fingers trail along his arms. “You’re more to me than just this,” he says. “I hope you know,” he gasps as Zevran rolls his balls in his fingers, “how much you mean to me.”

The admission causes Zevran to pause. They’ve never talked about where this is going, what will happen later. The future feels so precarious, considering their mission. But the last few weeks, there’s been no denying the warmth he’s felt towards the Warden, or the way Garral has looked at him, with the glow of the campfire reflected in his brown eyes. He closes his own eyes and breathes in deeply, nuzzling Garral’s hair. He hums. “I have an idea.”

“Do you?” He shifts slightly, casting a sidelong glance at him that Zevran has no power or desire to look away from. “Good. That’s good.” He reaches up to stroke the markings on Zevran’s face, his touch more gentle than anyone would ever believe possible. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

“Pine after Alistair’s perfect buttocks, I suspect,” he says with a well-meant chuckle. He’s not certain if anyone else in the camp had noticed the way Garral had looked at the other Warden, especially when Zevran had first become a member of the group, but Garral’s lingering—longing—gazes had not escaped his notice. For a time, he had watched and waited, wondering if the human would ever catch on to the attention. Or if the dwarf would ever gather up the courage to ask. But then he’d come to realize that Garral was _shy_ when it came to such things. The proof of which had been the nearly-beet red coloring he’d taken on when Zevran had flirted with him. It had caused him such delight—he’d been so extraordinarily surprised to find that someone in the world could still blush when it came to such things—that Zevran had been unable to control himself, flirting more and more outrageously until even Leliana had chided him for his behavior. It had been then, when he’d realized he’d become invested in Garral someday returning the flirtations (and that nothing would come of Garral’s lusting after Alistair), that he’d been extremely blunt about his desires and earnest intent towards the dwarf.

The way Garral’s eyes had widened, with surprise, but also interest, had been so very much worth the wait.

“Most likely,” Garral says. “They are most excellent buttocks, but I think I prefer yours.” The way his eyes light up causes Zevran’s heart no small amount of stuttering. He feels very much appreciated by the dwarf, and he quickly turns the attention back to the matter at hand.

“Your flattery will not go unrewarded,” He winks, surprised to feel a blush tinge his cheeks at the dwarf’s compliment. “Now. Did you wish to continue to talk? Or—” he gives Garral’s length a hearty squeeze “—would you like to _sing_?”

Garral’s hips thrust up in an uncontrolled jerk. He gasps, “Zev—”, one hand clasping over where Zevran has a hold of him, tightening his grip, encouraging him on.

“Sing, it is,” and he continues with the pressure, stroking him slowly and, most certainly, surely. He ignores his own pulsing desire, putting his own needs aside for the moment to pleasure his lover. “You are so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. He doesn’t understand the privilege he feels at seeing Garral so vulnerable and open. He’s bedded no small amount of powerful, influential people in his life—has made a name for himself for doing so, in fact. But this is different from anything he’s ever experienced before. There’s something precious and tender in their precarious balance of lovemaking and war-making. Something he wishes to hold onto for dear life.

“More,” Garral begs. So he gives him more, reaching down with his other hand to hold his balls lightly, roll them between his fingers with a pleased hum of encouragement. Garral’s hips thrust up again, in time with Zevran’s strokes, his chest heaving, mouth open and panting.

“Like this?” Zevran asks and feels the pulse in Garral’s cock, knowing even before the other can answer that the pressure is good, the feeling even better.

“Yes,” Garral whispers, and that’s not nearly good enough. Not when they’re alone in this room, sheltered away from all other ears.

So he lightens his grip, not releasing him completely, but enough to cause Garral to groan in frustration. “Louder, _mi amor_.”

“Damn you. Harder.” His fingers bite into Zevran’s flesh, just at his ribs, where he grips and will surely bruise skin, but he speaks in a normal tone, so Zevran tightens his grip once more and tugs on his sac, just enough to make Garral’s breath hitch.

“Louder,” Zevran says in his ear, cutting his voice low and breathless and sensual. “Moan for me. Let me hear you.” He continues his strokes, slow and even and _tight_ , drawing out his pleasure. A part of him (an admittedly ridiculous part) hopes Garral will never come, that they will stay like this wrapped up in their own private cocoon, that no one will ever notice they’ve never emerged out of their room. That the world will carry on just fine without them. He knows all too well the fantasy of his wish, and yet still can’t help the fleeting thought. He’s determined all the more for it to draw out their time as long as possibly, to not bring it all to an end too quickly.

But then Garral moans, low and long and there’s nothing for it but to reward him, with sweet words, yes, but also action, increasing the pace of his strokes, rubbing his thumb over the tip, smearing pre-cum to slick his movements. Garral releases his grip on his hip, reaches up and around and twists back to kiss him hard, sucking noisily at his lips and groaning into his mouth.

“Tell me,” Zevran says between kisses. “Tell me what you want, _mi amor_.”

Garral kisses him harder, teeth scraping his, tongue delving as deep as he’s able. His body undulates, shoulders pressing back rhythmically into Zevran’s chest, pushing the air from his lungs. But Zevran doesn’t complain or shift, more determined to bring his lover to completion.

“I…” Garral breathes out the word, falters in his shyness. He presses his forehead to Zevran’s cheek and pants heavy, hot breath over his skin.

“Yes? There’s no one to hear, my sweet. Only me to listen, to obey.” His pace quickens again just slightly. One word is better than none and deserves just as much of a reward as fifty.

“I want to come,” Garral says. His eyes close, brow furrowing from the intensity of his need. He renews his grip on Zevran’s hand, wrapping around him, thrusting into their joined fingers. His cock is hard and thick and slick with the pre-cum that practically weeps from the tip.

“Louder.”

“I want to come!” Garral jerks repeatedly into his hand and moans again, louder and so full of need Zevran can’t bring himself to deny him further. “Zev. _Please_.”

“Yes. Anything.” His own hips thrust up, uncontrolled, answering the passion of his lover’s call. He won’t come like this, with too little friction, his own cock barely brushing along flesh. He had no intention of seeing to his own needs as well, but he can’t control himself any longer. “Thighs together, _mi amor_.” And Garral complies quickly so that Zevran can rut into the closed-up space between his legs, his eyes fluttering shut from the delicious sensations of skin against skin.

It’s only a matter of time after that, what with Garral’s panting breaths, the sturdy feel of him, solid and so full of life and warmth, and he pumps his fist harder, faster, encouraging him with filthy words in his ear. “Come for me, my Warden. Let me hear you. As loud as you like.”

“I’m—”

“Yes.”

Garral jerks up hard several times, thrusting at the air and then he shouts, seed shooting over their hands, spilling onto Garral’s stomach and the sight of it, the thick, white mess of it, the sound of his climax, undoes Zevran completely and he moans with the force of his own orgasm, thrusting between his muscular thighs. He vaguely notices the way his own pleasured voice echoes in the room and he ponders for a brief moment that since he and Garral have begun this...whatever this is...he hasn’t allowed himself to be as loud as he’d like, refraining for the sake of his lover and their shared camp. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

When he relaxes his hold on his lover, Garral rolls away off him, quickly moves over him to pen him in between his arms and legs, kissing him again, moving his hips just enough to brush his softening cock over Zevran’s. The kiss is languid, somewhat sloppy, but heartfelt and everything Zevran needs in the moment as his body very nearly vibrates from his release. He wraps his arms around Garral and draws him down, Garral’s release smearing between them.

Eventually, Garral raises his head and looks down, studying Zevran, his face serious and intense. Zevran reaches up and trails his fingers along Garral’s braided beard, one fingertip running along his full lips. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Garral says.

“Nor do I expect you to.”

“You call me ‘ _mi amor_ ’ like you think I don’t know what it means. But I do. Are you serious when you say it? Or is it part of your...routine?”

“My darling, there is nothing about you that is routine.” He combs his fingers up through Garral’s disheveled hair, his voice matching his lover’s in all seriousness. “I have not called anyone that in quite some time.”

Garral studies him for a long minute, eyes searching his face. “We have a word, too,” he finally says. “In dwarvish. There aren’t many. We don’t tend towards the romantic. Dwarves are very...practical.”

He laughs softly. “I have noticed.”

Garral smirks and leans down to kiss him again, soft and long. He kisses a line down to his ear and whispers, “ _Dorzê_.”

~~~~~

Garral, Alistair, and Zevran sequester themselves away with Levi for what seems like it will be a while, so Leliana pulls Wynne and Morrigan aside and they trek through the snow, up the mountain, following a well-worn path that one of the maids had described to Leliana. A small cave beacons them forward, a dark hole in the snow that had they not known, could have been filled with spiders. Or worse. But they find nothing to challenge them, wending their way down through a long, winding tunnel, the warmth of the hot spring they seek gradually heating the air. Both Morrigan’s and Wynne’s staffs cast dim light to guide them so when they finally emerge into the cavern, the light glimmers on the surface of the pool. They prop their staffs between rocks and then all shed their clothes, stepping into the warm, welcoming water. It fizzes on their skin for a brief moment as they submerge, breathing out bubbling breaths, sinking into the depths.

Wynne finds a rock to sit on, the water up to her chin. She tips her head back with a soft sigh. A splash nearby indicates Leliana has done the same, her arms draped over the edge of the pool, while Morrigan floats on her back, arms waving gently to propel her around.

Leliana relaxes as the water seems to draw out stress and muscle aches. Her mind wanders through what they’ll need to accomplish in the next few months, and almost impossible mission to begin with. They’ve been always on the move for months and this one brief respite is more welcome than she’d imagined. Her thoughts turn to the Warden, and how his life has changed so drastically and how his life will most certainly never return to what had once been normal. “I’m glad our Warden has found someone,” she says. “Even if Zevran is...somewhat capricious.”

Wynne snorts. “ _Capricious_ is one word for it. Do you know he tried his flirtations with me?”

“And why not? You’re a beautiful woman.” Leliana tips her head to look at the mage, but Wynne only rolls her eyes.

“I’m too old for such nonsense.”

“No one is too old for love,” Morrigan says. She’s drifted closer to them and lowers her legs into the water, dog paddling a few feet away. “If a man is on his deathbed and falls in love with his nurse, is his life not all the more rich for it? He dies with a content heart, which is perhaps more than any of us could hope for.”

“You surprise me,” Wynne says.

“Why? Am I not allowed to have romantic notions?”

“No, indeed you are. I just never expected you’d give voice to them.”

Morrigan answers only with an arch of her fine eyebrows. She returns to her position on her back, but doesn’t swim away as Leliana had expected.

“Well, I for one, think Garral and Zevran make a fine pair.” Leliana returns to the thoughts at the forefront of her mind. “They balance each other, in a way. I can only hope Zevran provides the comfort the Warden needs at the end of the day.”

Morrigan laughs, sharp and clear in the hollowed cavern. “Oh, my dear. I’m sure he provides more than _comfort_.”

“Indeed,” Wynne agrees. “I dread still nights. At least the wind keeps their noises somewhat muffled.”

Leliana shrugs. She doesn’t really mind the sound of the two of them and their lovemaking that can be heard through the thin layers of tent fabric. They are by no means noisy, but there are still unmistakable, _arousing_ sounds that she unrepentantly takes full advantage of while alone in her tent. “Sex can be a comfort,” she says. “And if you don’t like their noises, you can always move your tent further away.”

Wynne shrugs and waves her hand, as if she can’t be bothered.

“It’s all well and good when we’re camping on the road,” Morrigan says. “Imagine being stuck in a room next to them. They woke me up this morning with their...noises. I swear they were attempting to wake us all.”

“Oh?” Leliana grins. She herself had been up before the dawn, making good use of her time alone in the castle to search for anything useful.

“Indeed,” Morrigan kicks her feet and propels herself away toward the far side of the pool. “Those walls aren’t nearly as thick as they seemed to think.”

  
_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Re: dwarven language. Apparently, Tolkien didn’t really think it necessary to come up with a word for ‘my love’. What was the man thinking?? So I cobbled this word together from various websites (dragon age wiki NOT among them, I mean, come on) and have no idea if it sits well with anyone other than me and Garral. One website had: ‘dorzada; love, adoration’. Another had ‘ê’ as being used as a possessive at the end of the noun. So that’s where the word comes from. I kinda like the way the word sounds, still very Dwarvish and guttural, and yet that z in there gives it a sexy feel. If you know of any other word that would fit, I’d love to hear it.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Find me on [Tumblr](https://threewhiskeylunch.tumblr.com/) should you so desire!


End file.
